


Mornings At Home

by Omnibee13



Series: Brothers In The Dark [1]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Dante (Devil May Cry) - Freeform, M/M, Pining, Post DMC5, Slice of Life, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Tags Are Hard, Titles are hard, Unrequited Crush, Verg you awkward lil man child..., Vergil (Devil May Cry) - Freeform, Vergil does yoga, not beta read we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 09:41:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27848714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omnibee13/pseuds/Omnibee13
Summary: Vergil's morning routine is interrupted by Dante.
Relationships: Dante/Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Series: Brothers In The Dark [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2038610
Comments: 4
Kudos: 72
Collections: Spardacest Server Fics and Art





	Mornings At Home

Learning to live together was a trial. Vergil was not yet sure if it was a trial by fire or a witch-trial, but it was definitely trying. They hadn’t lived together, or really even knew each other, in any meaningful capacity since they were eight. Months in Hell didn’t exactly prepare them to live together once – or if – they found a way home. Several attempts to pierce a Veil or jump a Gate ended in painful, humiliating failure. There was time to re-learn about each other, certainly. In between duels to keep sharp and attempting to sleep in shifts, the twins did do some catching up. 

It was like pulling teeth. 

Ultimately, though, they eventually did make it through. Vergil would remember that as clearly as he remembered falling into Hell from the Temen-ni-Gru in the first place. He was idly making slashes with Yamato, seeing if his force of will could open a portal back to Red Grave.. Back home.. But Vergil was exhausted. Months in Hell, and the twins resembled each other more than ever; after a day or two of failing to keep his over-long hair out of his eyes, Vergil allowed Dante to tie his hair back. In an attempt to return the favor, to Vergil’s credit, however, he had offered to help Dante shave, even deigned to use Yamato to do it. Dante, politely as he could, declined to let Vergil attempt to shave him with a blade sharp enough to cut time and space. 

Vergil had been almost mindlessly making slashes in the air. Dante, for his part, was trying to rest on a nearby rock. 

When a slash produced a wave of familiar smells and sounds, Vergil almost couldn’t believe it.  
“Hey,” he said, softly, at first, eyes going wide. “Hey!” He turned, wildly, looking for Dante. Far less eloquent than he’d prefer, but, the situation didn’t lend itself well to such. Dante lifted his head, looking at his twin with some surprise. 

“Huh?” Well, Vergil felt a whole lot less bad about not being eloquent. Dante scrambled to his feet, ran to his side. “You did it,” he said, slowly, in awe at first. Then he grabbed Vergil’s shoulder and shook it with increasing enthusiasm. “You absolute son of a bitch, you did it!” He was almost jumping up and down, both fists in the air now. “Verg.. It’s home! We can go home!”

Home.

That was about two months ago.

Vergil and Dante’s cohabitation was like a dance between two people who’d both like to lead the waltz; toes were definitely stepped on. To their mutual credit, though, they hadn’t yet broken anything. They kept their fights verbal, thus far. Vergil had a trump card he’d use, and he didn’t feel an once guilty about it. 

“I’m leaving.”

He’d announce it, in the middle of one of their rows, and then head for the door. That’d do either one of two things would happen: Dante would bellow curses at him, tell him not to let the door hit him on the ass on the way out, who the fuck needs you anyway, or.. panic would cross his face for a split second, before he tried to smooth things over in his usual, Dante-ham-fisted ways. But Vergil would always walk out the door. He’d always come back, but after he said those two magic words, he’d follow through. He’d walk, normally.  
Sometimes he’d cut a portal in the alley and end up across town. Sometimes he’d come back in as soon as thirty minutes. Sometimes he’d be out til dawn. 

Last night was someplace in between. They’d argued, Vergil had left, but he returned around midnight, and immediately went to bed. 

That’s where he was now, in the soft few moments before full consciousness and movement began.  
_“His” room,_ he thought. A spare room that Dante cleaned out in so much haste that they were still trying to find more appropriate places for the things he chucked into the hall. _“His” bed,_ he thought, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. A slightly rickety brass frame, another something Dante just had. These weren’t even his sheets, Vergil thought, bitterly. Then again, “he” hadn’t had sheets since he was a child. 

Pushing all these thoughts aside, Vergil sat up. He was getting old. His back hurt. Maybe it was the mattress, maybe it was the years of abuse he and others put him through. Either way, things popped and Vergil groaned. He was a creature of habit, a secret lover of routine; years of essentially living on the streets, getting what he could, where he could, how he could, lead to him almost romanticizing these kinds of things. 

As he swung his legs over to the side of the bed and gingerly made his way to the floor, he thought about these things, making lists in his mind. 

_In a few minutes,_ he thought, stretching his back while on all fours, resting on his knees, his arms out in front of him, his head down. _I’ll get to the bathroom.. Take a shower, brush my teeth.._ He moved back to all fours again, groaning as his muscles worked against him. He shifted, his forearms on the wood floor, moving his body into a plank. _Get the coffee started after getting dressed.._ Vergil inhaled and exhaled slowly, eyes closed as his abdomen started to burn a little. After counting to sixty, he rested, laying on the floor. He looked under “his” bed, nose wrinkling slightly at the sight of all those god-forsaken dust bunnies.

_… Maybe you’ll clean today._

Vergil moved to his hands and knees again, before shifting his feet back, his body an arch. Carefully, and with a close mind on his breathing, he held that position, eyes closed, head hanging.. Inhale, exhale. To all things a gentle, steady pattern..

“What the fuck are you doing?”

It was a small inhale, not a gasp, but he had been surprised. Vergil went back to sitting on his knees, looking over his shoulder with no shortage of disdain at his brother. Dante was leaning against the door, still in pajamas – or what passed for pajamas in Dante’s world – a coffee mug in one hand. Dante was notorious for giving off ungodly amounts of heat when he slept. Vergil learned this the hard way in the first night they had spent together in the shop. For one night, and one night only, they slept in Dante’s bed. The man was a furnace. He’d have slept in the nude if Vergil didn’t protest it, loudly. Vergil quickly learned if a shirt wasn’t required, Dante wouldn’t wear one. So there he stood, loose pants slung low around his hips and Vergil doing his best to keep his eyes on Dante’s eyes.

“Breathing exercises,” he replied, tone neutral. Dante raised an eyebrow and his mug at him, a kind of sarcastic “cheers” gesture. This wasn’t the same Dante that he was yelling at last night, nor who yelled back at him. Vergil was always surprised by his capability to forgive and forget. 

“Uh huh,” Dante replied, taking a sip. Vergil crossed “get the coffee started” off his mental checklist. After a beat, he added it back, because Dante never made it right. “What’s that, yoga?”

“It’s not yoga,” Vergil replied, too fast. He sighed and rolled his head on his neck, eyes closed, wincing at some stiffness. 

“Looks kinda like yoga.”

“I wouldn’t know, as I do not do yoga.”

“It’s fuckin yoga, ain’t it?”

“Dante,” Vergil bit, his shoulders hunching in annoyance for just a moment. He struggled to relax. Relax. He took a deep breath, exhaled it. “Did you need something?” 

For a moment, Dante’s face was implacable. Vergil couldn’t pinpoint the probability of what he was going to say, and that was worrying. Dante was very rarely hard to read. Any number of things could come spilling out of his mouth at that moment.

_Yeah, we need to talk about last night._

_You need to find someplace else to live._

_Nah, just wanted to say hi._

_I lo—_

Vergil chased that last one away, as he had since those little inclinations started to nibble at his insides in Hell. 

When Dante did speak, it was – 

“Nope, just peekin’ at ya.”

Vergil rubbed his face with both hands, hoping the gesture conveyed annoyance, and hoping that if his face was hot from being flushed, it was missed in the movement. That was worse. Why was that worse?

“Now you have,” he said, trying to force a pleasant tone into his voice. That amused Dante more than anything, his mug coming to his smirking lips. “I’m afraid I don’t do any more interesting tricks outside of yoga, so if you please..?” Vergil gestured to the door Dante was leaning against, an invitation to leave. 

Weirdly, Dante did so, though he called over his shoulder as he went for the stairs.

“So you want eggs, right?”

Vergil exhaled, chin to his chest. He had been chasing at these feelings for too long, and every time he thought that he’d come out on top of them, something would happen. 

He rubbed his face again and sifted, moving to sit with his back to the edge of his bed.

“This is asinine,” he muttered to the quiet air of his empty bedroom. He looked up at the ceiling. _The humiliation conga-line can stop any day now…_

He needed a shower, he decided. A cold shower. He could continue chasing these feelings away, he knew he could. They were beyond foolish; they hadn’t grown up together, but they were still related. When he was an 18 year old god, and thought his anagrammed name was just beyond clever, when he met “Tony Redgrave,” he assumed it was a crush. Hormone driven idiocy. But then he killed the woman close to him, the woman who made guns.. That was a bad moment. He decided to switch tactics, continue to pursue his father’s bother, and push Dante away because those feelings exceptionally hurt.

But of course, what did he do, but go to Fortuna and continue to make ugly mistakes. _Sure, Vergil, cope with your latent homosexual urges by having unprotected sex with the first nubile young woman who’d have you. Oh, and then never realize she got pregnant, had your child, dropped him at an orphanage.._ Then there was the Temen-ni-Gru incident and, whyyyyy the hell was he thinking about this right now?

Vergil signed and again made the resolution to clamp down and keep whatever feelings he had about Dante in his chest, out of sight, and well out of mind. He was sure he could do that.. Vergil had a force of will the likes of which few people could comprehend. 

.. But then the knowledge that Dante had just come in and looked, probably, directly at his ass while he was doing yoga and all he could say was “breathing exercises” came back to him and Vergil wanted to die all the more. 

A cold shower.

**Author's Note:**

> I promise I didn't write this solely to have Vergil do some sleepy morning yoga and stress about his burgeoning feelings about Dante. 
> 
> I am rusty as hell at fic writing and am open to comments and requests. Check out my tumblr, omniverbosity.tumblr.com.


End file.
